


My Best Friend from the Year 2112

by theElement



Category: Doraemon (Manga), Psycho-Pass
Genre: Crack, Gen, Hella
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-19 23:53:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3628917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theElement/pseuds/theElement
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten-year-old Shougo needs motivation to go to school. It comes to him one day in the form of two misfits from the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Best Friend from the Year 2112

**Author's Note:**

> I watched the movie "Stand By Me Doraemon" (an adaptation of the classic manga) during a plane ride and learned that the robot Doraemon was constructed in 2112 - the same year that the events of Psycho-Pass took place. The result was a crack desecration of your favorite childhood anime, crossed over with Doraemon.

It was just another day for Shougo. Another lousy day he didn’t want to get out of bed, go to school or do his times-tables.

The sun hanging in the middle in the sky was almost as white as his hair, which meant it was getting close to 8am and he was going to be late, he knew it, if he didn’t start getting ready right now. But Shougo couldn’t muster up the logical reasoning to convince himself that another day spent at a Sibyl-sanctioned educational facility would impart to his life any meaning other than the usual, which meant one of the three: 

  1.       Everyone is alone.
  2.       Everyone is empty.
  3.       Tsunemori Akane is not my girlfriend. 



She was so pretty, and so smart, and the only girl in fourth grade with a hue as clear as his. From the very start, he had made up his mind to marry her someday, since she was _clearly_ the only girl for him. He had some hope that she liked him, too. There were certainly some signs he had procured from keen scrutiny. For example, just yesterday, she had smiled and nodded in interest when they talked about their reading homework, and he shared his analysis of _Momotaro_ as being the tale of a radical revolutionist _and_ adept businessman who overthrew an oppressive oligarchic regime by bribing his followers with attractive but ultimately inconsequential rewards. She seemed fascinated, if a little confused.

But he also noticed on that same day how she had looked at that Kougami Shinya, that boy with some muscles whose hair was perfectly spiky all the time, who was really good at all the sports things, and who was just as smart as either of them. Watching Shinya score a three-pointer during recess, Akane’s big eyes had gotten even bigger, and her mouth had dropped and hung slightly open in a cute lopsided smile of … admiration? Love…? All Shougo knew was that he didn’t want to see that look ever again. And he wouldn’t have to, if he didn’t go to school. _To be blind is not miserable_.

Also, he was pretty sure his mom was making eggs for breakfast. Ugh.

Shougo rolled around in his bed, groaning and stretching his gangly limbs. Other than the unusual color of his stringy hair, he was an average and unremarkable-looking boy, with a thin, drawn, sallow face perched atop a neck slightly too long for his small frame. Scrawny legs and knobbly knees poked out of oversized, tattered blue shorts, and a pair of thick black coke-bottle glasses lay unceremoniously amidst the mess of test papers and homework on his desk. Sprawled lazily across that bed, Shougo was both utterly lackluster and intensely uninteresting, and the boy did not have an inkling that he could or wanted to be anything more. 

“SHOUGO-KUUUUUUN!” came the inevitable screech from downstairs. He wasn’t sure – he wasn’t quite as good with numbers as he was with words – but the obnoxious daily maternal cry seemed to have emerged this morning about four minutes late. “IT’S TIME FOR BREAKFAST! COME DOWNSTAIRS RIGHT NOW OR YOU’RE GONNA BE LATE FOR – ” 

Four minutes too late. He’d made up his mind. 

“I’m not going,” he yelled into his pillow. 

“WHAAAAAT??” His pillow was having none of it. 

“I HATE school,” he told it loudly. “I hate math. I hate bullies. I hate Kougami Shinya.” 

“MAKISHIMA SHOUGO…! You get down here or I’ll drag you…!”

“Hey, it’s not that bad, Pillow-san. I just want to stay home and read books. Tons and tons of books. I’ve got so many that I can’t ever finish them all if I waste time doing nothing at school. So… I’ve decided to drop out and just do my own thing,” he declared. 

That apparently did nothing to sway Pillow-san, as he heard muffled steps quickly stomping up the carpeted stairs that led to his room. He suddenly felt anxious about explaining to his mom, yes, his actual mom, a decision he only just realized he’d made in complete seriousness.

Shougo reluctantly dragged himself out of bed, slipped on his glasses and headed for his closet, not noticing the desk drawer that had creaked open on its own behind him. He had to at least look somewhat presentable for the incoming verbal deluge that he wasn’t sure he was prepared for. As he rummaged in his dresser for a relatively unwrinkled shirt to wear, he heard the soft thump-thump-thump of his mother’s footsteps for about two more seconds, and then another, way louder _thump_ , that for some reason sounded like it was coming from right behind him… 

It was immediately followed by an uncomfortable grunt and a deep, silvery, slightly irritated voice. 

“That was… rather unwieldy.” 

Shougo turned around and almost fell over.

Toppled over in front of him was a strange young man, lithe and pale and dressed stylishly in a pure white button-up and steel-grey capris. The top of his head was wrapped in bandages, and Shougo could tell the man clearly had not enjoyed adding to that injury. He could also tell that the intruder was strikingly attractive, even as he awkwardly gathered his legs from underneath him. 

“Yes, I’m sure that was the only option of travel available,” he muttered, a bit more acidly, not to himself but to… Shougo’s open desk drawer… 

“Um… sir?” Shougo attempted. “Who are you, and how did you come out of my desk?” 

Having collected himself, the stranger looked up, and a pair of cadmium yellow eyes met the boy’s light brown ones, twinkling in fascination and scrutinizing him as if he was a bizarre ancient artifact. “How absolutely intriguing it is, observing my former self,” he said smoothly. “I think I remember being where you are. Yes – I remember experiencing the emptiness and isolation I see right now in your eyes. I suppose the first thing I should share with you as we enter this conversation, then, is this quote from Albert Einstein that may lift your spirits: ‘Solitude is painful when one is young, but delightful when one is more mature.’”

Shougo blinked. “Who’s that? And do you mean you’re… me from the future?” 

The man nodded. “As I thought,” he said, smiling thinly. “You’re uneducated, but not stupid – quite perceptive, in fact. I wish I knew that at your age.” 

“Of course I’m not stupid,” said Shougo. “And I’m not uneducated. I read more books than anyone in my class.”

“I’m not surprised. It’s a remarkably good habit that I hope you keep, regardless of what happens today. It will definitely serve you well.” 

Shougo’s indignation didn’t last very long in the face of such praise, and childlike wonder quickly took over. “That’s right… you know what will happen to me, because you’re me, from the future! Wow!” he marveled, wide-eyed. “So time travel really is real, huh? I’ve read it in so many books, but I didn’t know it could happen in real life! Can you tell me what my future is like, sir? Or – should I call you Shougo? No, that’s too confusing, I’m Shougo. How about Adult-Shougo? Or, hmm… is Makishima-san too formal? What do you want to be called?” 

“I think Makishima-san is appropriate,” replied Adult-Shougo. “After all, you’ll grow up to be a man revered and respected by many. The best way to start is by respecting yourself.” 

Shougo was starry-eyed. Adult him was awesome in every way – handsome, fashionable, well-spoken, and exactly nothing like his geeky old self. He found the feasibility of time travel much easier to believe than the idea that this charismatic character could actually be him in ten (or fifteen?) years. But Makishima-san had known at a glance how he was feeling, and Shougo couldn’t imagine how that part could’ve been a lie. All of a sudden, he couldn’t wait to grow up, to speed through this unbearably awkward phase of apathy and become this visionary, this enigma, who was _undoubtedly_ adored and admired by everyone… 

Except something seemed off. 

He quickly remembered; he was innately sharp, after all. “Wait. That’s only one question answered.” 

“What was the other one? Remind me, kindly,” said Makishima. 

“How did you come out of my desk?” 

“Oh.” His benign smile thinned. “I forgot I had to explain that. Well, you’re asking the right questions, at least. You see, Shougo-kun, the 22nd century is a very different time. If this is 2095, my time is only seventeen years away, but a lot has changed. Sibyl has become institutionalized in not just the city centers, but the entire country. Following that lead, technology has grown at an exponential rate, resulting in frankly quite bizarre inventions and amenities that reduce even the most basic of tasks to the flick of a finger. Along with Sibyl’s mental enslavement of the Japanese population, the subsequent physical enslavement has created a huge market for these gadgets, whose attributes and applications can really get quite fantastical. One of them I happened to get my hands on was – you’re not listening. I’m sorry, that was probably a lot to process at once.” 

Makishima twiddled his thumbs and watched the younger version of him. Shougo had drifted away about five seconds ago, and was staring quizzically at his locked door. “Makishima-san, what happened to my mom?” he asked. “Wasn’t she coming up the stairs?” 

“I was getting there,” said Makishima. “I’ve got a – well, partner of sorts. He – well, _it_ , I should say – ” he continued, for the first time looking just the smallest bit flustered, as if there was something about this whole deal that was of paramount difficulty to explain, “ _muted_ the room and _stopped time_ outside of it with these devices, however those things work, so your mother won’t be coming in and we have all the time we need.” He nodded, mostly to himself. “We also have another device that is in essence time travel, but for whatever reason, the exit portals are limited to the desk drawers of schoolchildren…” 

Now Shougo was paying attention. “That explains it. Wow! We, huh? So you brought a friend here on your journey into the past. This partner – is he your friend? Your follower? Your fan? He must be your fan, right? Because you’re awesome. Now I want to meet my future fan. If that’s fine, of course. And how do you both fit in my desk? It’s so small!” 

“I encourage asking intelligent questions, but these are – well, I wouldn’t say – ”

“Okay, Makishima-sama, you’ve introduced me. Can I come out now?” interrupted the desk drawer. Its tinny voice somehow rattled with the phlegm of a heavy smoker. 

Makishima sighed. “Yes. You can come out. I appreciate you staying in there for so long.” 

The desk rattled mightily and the drawer popped open, filling the room with a brilliant blue light. Shougo gasped, watching in awe. Makishima continued to twiddle his thumbs. 

After a second, something that was truly unprecedented in its ludicrous eccentricity to the fourth grader hoisted itself over the edge of the drawer. It was bright blue and white, with a red collar around its neck and an antenna-like appendage on its head. It looked unlike any animal he’d ever seen. Well, it did look slightly like a pig – or maybe a cat? No, definitely a cat. It had whiskers and a cat-like face, although it lacked ears – but its double chin and low-sagging belly definitely contributed to Shougo’s first instinct. The animal-like thing plopped to the floor, generating a hollow metallic noise, which made him realize it was in fact not a live, but a robotic animal. As soon as that happened, the drawer slammed shut, sucking the illumination back in with it. 

Shougo rushed to the robot, making sure its fall hadn’t dented or damaged it. Up close, he saw that its mouth and teeth were caked in some kind of dark red substance, and there was a strange smell emanating from its shiny surface: a bizarre combination of alcohol, tobacco, and adzuki bean. 

“Are you okay?” asked Shougo to the robot. “You can talk, right?” 

The robotic cat-pig-thing didn’t look at him – it was glaring at the adult Makishima, who was now watching it observantly with a sly half-smile, like an evaluator. “I better get another one for this,” it muttered in the same gravelly, nasal voice.” Then it turned and met Shougo’s eye. “It’s good to meet you, uh… chibi Makishima-sama.” 

“To answer your question, he’s an assistant and a follower, not quite a friend or fan, although I wish he would be so kind as to be either or both. And he’s definitely a robot cat, not a pig, in case you were wondering.” Makishima grinned widely, now completely at ease. “Shougo-kun, meet Doraemon.”


End file.
